Polaris
by carefreewritergirl
Summary: Squib Victoire Weasley is having nightmares about her best friend Teddy Lupin, and she has no idea where they're coming from. All she knows is that he's in danger and she's the only one who can save him.
1. The Exploding Cake

**Chapter One** of **Polaris**

The Exploding Cake

 _By carefreewritergirl_

~Written in honor of the approaching official "19 Years Later" date from the epilogue of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows~

 _Oooh, if only I could be a Muggle_

 _I'd be watching the telly from morning till noon…_

 _Oooh, if only I could be a Muggle_

 _Instead of a broomstick I'd ride a balloon, oh…_

 _-_ The Weird Sisters, "Muggle"

 _Okay._ _I think I'm ready to start._

 _So...as I was saying earlier: The problem is that the story I'm about to tell isn't really my story at all; it's Victoire Weasley's. But she won't tell you her story because she's so busy living her stupid mundane little life, so I have taken up this burden/privilege/responsibility/whatever-you- want-to-call-it for my own._

 _I will admit you right now that I don't know much about Victoire, that I never have known much about Victoire, but I_ _ **do**_ _have an inkling of where her craziness began. (She_ was _crazy, you know. Everyone everywhere seems to laud her now, but she was definitely crazy.) It began with the fierce love she had for Teddy; all the insanity that followed stemmed from that. If she had never felt that love for him, she would have never feared for him. If she had never feared for him, she would have never come to Hogwarts. If she had never come to Hogwarts, she would have never met me. And if she never met me, I would have never died._

 _HA! Knew I got your attention there!_

 _So, anyway, my death was basically sealed the moment Victoire Ginerva Weasley woke up screaming late one May night in the upstairs bedroom of Shell Cottage._

* * *

She was twisted in her hot, heavy blankets, her face smashed against her pillow, unable to see but her mind still somehow roared and throbbed with the image, as sharp and bright as snow in the sunlight, of a pale-faced boy lying spread-eagled on the ground, the whites of his eyes shining at her, driving knives into her heart of pain and fear and hopelessness.

Even with her mind on fire, the dim thought skipped on the outer reaches of her brain that it wouldn't be so bad, it really wouldn't be so bad, if it had been just any face, any unknown tortured face she could dismiss as a nightmare and nothing more, but no, she knew this face…

It was the face of Teddy Lupin.

Victoire sobbed into her pillow. She had had this dream many times. The Dream, she privately called it, because before The Dream she had never had any dreams. For days, weeks, months - who knew how long - it had been haunting her. Every time she closed her eyes or let them rest anywhere too long, his tortured face seemed to swim in front of her gaze, a picture permanently planted on the backs of her eyeballs. And at the same time she was sure that there was no cure, nothing to make it go away. But did she want it to go away?

What if her vision was real? What if, sometime in the future, _this_ might happen? What if there was nothing she could do to stop it? What would it do to her friend, Teddy? What could possibly transform him from the happy, grinning boy of now to the gaunt, deranged one of her dream?

She had no answers. All she had were questions, and they surrounded her, stabbed her, like so many spears brandished suddenly out of the dark. For the rest of the night her sleep was fitful and when she woke she saw a line of congealed blood on her arm - while reaching for Teddy's hand in her dream, she had unknowingly gripped her own arm, scratching it deep enough to bring up blood.

Shaken, she slipped carefully out of bed and padded softly into the bathroom, where she ran her arm under the tap and dried it. The blood was gone, but the stain of it still remained in her memory. But then she took a deep breath, and firmly closed a mental door on the happenings of last night: Today was her 12th birthday, as a rule, during your birthday you were supposed to be happy. She thought she might cement that rule in place by grinning at herself in the mirror for a minute and a half to establish a false sort of cheeriness (The mirror wasn't much help: it had an obsession with the pimple in Victoire's ear and went into hysterics whenever it saw it. Victoire quite agreed that pimples didn't belong in ears, but it was there, and what could she do about it? _Everyone_ knew what happened when Eloise Midgen tried to curse her pimples off. She told the mirror to shut up, which it thankfully did.).

"Victoire! Victoire!" An hour later a small warm ball of humanity erupted into Victoire's arms. It was James Potter, her Uncle Harry's son, and he was beside himself with excitement. With lightning-fast reflexes as quick as his father's (Victoire had thought before that maybe someday he'd become a Seeker too), his hand darted into her back pocket and surfaced with his stolen prize: a slab of chocolate.

Victoire had a bad habit of keeping a bit of chocolate in her pocket, bad not only because it got mushy and melted after a while, but also because occasionally little pirates came to snatch it away. James and sometimes his brother Albus and her own brother Louis, though usually Albus and Louis were much nicer, had found out her secret a long time ago and had never failed to take advantage of it. Now James skipped in exuberance around the room, while Victoire chased after him fruitlessly over furniture and through the kitchen (Her mom preparing lunch was not too happy with that), all the while screaming "YOU RASCAL!" and James laughing delightedly. She finally managed to snag him in the corner by the door and carried him with a few light spankings to his prison (i.e. the couch), but before she could set him down she was bombarded with more little people: James' seven-year-old brother Albus, and his sister, Lily, who was five. And then on their heels came Rose and Hugo Weasley, Rose with her mother's intelligent eyes and Hugo with his father's good-natured grin. Victoire's younger siblings Dominique and Louis also joined the commotion. Victoire suddenly found herself swallowed by a savage, noisy group, all screaming for vengeance against James for the stolen chocolate.

"Why did he get chocolate - I want some -"

"All I have are Fizzing Whizbees, I hate them -"

"I like them, give me one for once, Hugo; you hoard all the candy to yourself -"

"So what, you can get more for free at Uncle George's Place -"

"You're such a little glutton -"

"Mo _om, Rose is using big words again -"_

"The first person who can tell me what day it is will get a piece of chocolate!" Victoire shouted desperately over the ruckus, and of course they all cried out at once, "Your birthday, your birthday!" So in the end they all got chocolate, even James, who'd certainly had more than his fair share.

Once Victoire managed to get all the little people out from underneath her feet, she went to greet her Aunt Hermione, who gave her a warm smile, and her Uncle Ron, who gave her one of his characteristic one-armed hugs. Harry and Ginny came after; poor Ginny was loaded down with so many presents that when she tried to look around them to say hello to Victoire they all cascaded out of her arms. It took a while to clean them up but Hermione helped with a Hovering Charm - Ron did too, but maybe not quite as smoothly or successfully as his wife.

"No, honey, it's WinGARdium LeviOsa; make the GAR nice and long -"

"Oh, shut up."

But Victoire knew by their expressions that both spouses were just bantering, and the two kissed each other as the last present was set on the table.

Everyone else moved out of the doorway and into the room - except Victoire, that is. She stood, leaning against the doorframe, staring out into the front yard for the person she most longed to see.

It seemed to take forever, but it might have only been a few moments that she stood there - nevertheless, when she saw an old, white-haired woman and young man with bright blue hair tumble into view, she felt herself releasing a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

The moment Teddy caught sight of her he smiled, and it was a beautiful smile. The right side was pulled up more than the left and his teeth were only just showing, an uncertain, shy grin, unique to him. Calm, slow, it turned a normally deadpan face into something alive. He ran toward the door, his grandmother teetering somewhat precariously behind him. And then the door was flung open and Teddy, beaming, bounded before her.

"Vic, you should just _see_ what I got you for your birthday! You'll love it. I promise!"

"Not more photos?" Victoire said, raising her eyebrow at him skeptically. Teddy was a photographer, and although he often took beautiful shots, she couldn't help but get a tad bored of his hobby. She had several boxes of his photos stashed underneath her bed.

"Not one more photo, cross my heart," Teddy said with utmost sincerity. "But - c'mon, where are all the little ankle-biters; we need to give them our annual performance."

At every family social gathering Teddy and Victoire put on a little act of the Wizard and the Hopping Pot to amuse "the little kids". For some reason, no matter how many times they saw it, the kids still thought it was hilarious. Victoire had a hefty job: she had to play the narrator, the various neighboring townspeople, the young wizard, and his father, inflecting her voice differently depending on each one. Teddy, meanwhile, imitated the pot: taking great hops around the room (and occasionally chasing the audience, adding to the fun), he put his Metamorphmagus powers to work sprouting warts and pimples while he moaned, whined, cried, brayed, choked, groaned, and made every other weird noise he could possibly think of, every once and awhile making a new one, which was awarded with applause and shrieks of laughter.

But Teddy couldn't keep hopping indefinitely (both because of physical limits and his grandmother laying down the law, saying he was going to break his foot someday if he wasn't careful), and when he finally slumped, exhausted, to the floor, all the boys leapt forward and tried to tackle him to his feet, and the girls begged him to do more. Teddy protested - and got his punishment when James sat on his stomach in a last resort.

Thankfully (for Teddy, at least), at that moment the dinner bell whizzed through the air, ringing wildly. Teddy seized his chance to recover by taking a few deep breaths and rubbing his bruised and battered legs while the children flooded toward the table. Anyone seeing Teddy at that moment would make the assumption that being an adopted cousin is no easy task, and they would be absolutely right.

Dinner passed without mishap, that is if you didn't count the tense moment where James was discovered hiding broccoli in his napkin by his parents. Harry said he sympathized, because he remembered the summer with Dudley's awful dieting regimen all too well, but Ginny was firm. After that James ate his broccoli, but not without many spiteful sidelong glances at his mother.

At a point where the conversation lulled, Victoire deliberately set down her fork, wiped her mouth (though it was spotless), and faced her uncle. "Thanks for coming, Uncle Harry."

Harry looked up, his scar shining blazingly in the light from the window. A grin was crossing his face - but suddenly it disappeared as he realized she was being serious. Harry was busy and famous, a combination that made it difficult to find time to reunite with family without disturbance relating to his job and shake off reporters that tailed him wherever he went. "I wouldn't miss it for the world," he said, his eyes trained steadily on hers. Victoire became acutely aware of the entire family's gaze and blushed slightly. (James, for instance, was watching the proceedings with such avidity that he swallowed a broccoli whole without one grimace.)

After the plates were wiped clean (except for James, who still had one piece of broccoli left on his) Victoire's grandmother and mother rose and disappeared into the kitchen. A silence tense with excitement promptly followed her departure. The Mrs. Weasleys were bringing out the cake!

Fleur and Molly's cakes were always magnificent, all the more so because they were never the same. They ranged from banana-upside down cakes to raspberry tart cakes to cakes covered in fruit and nuts with a creamy topping. Sometimes Fleur hid galleons in them, sometimes pieces of Droobles Best Blowing Gum, and once even a Remembrall (Albus was the one who found that, and then he put it in a drawer and forgot all about it. It was found by Lily, then a toddler, who wanted to make it her nightlight except the moment Albus saw it it stopped glowing. Lily threw a tantrum until it started glowing again, which thankfully wasn't too long later.). Everyone had learned to prepare themselves for a surprise whenever one of the dynamic duo's birthday cakes made an appearance.

And as the birthday cake floated in, guided by Fleur's wand, everyone gave an involuntary gasp of surprise (except for James, who burped). It was three layers, swathed with spectacular swirls and spirals of chocolate frosting. The top layer was fruitcake, embedded with strawberries and blueberries, the middle was coffee cake, sweet and dark, full of walnuts, and the bottom was vanilla-flavored and colored green, red, and blue, which flashed darker and lighter shades of their respective colors. There was also a group of little musicians dancing around playing their instruments at the top, and as the cake was set down the singer broke into song, " _Oh if only I was a Muggle…"_

They were miniature representations of The Weird Sisters, Victoire's favorite band. And _Muggle_ was her favorite song, because somehow it made her feel better about her own predicament…

Everyone else, however, paid no attention to the little band: Their eyes were fixed on the extraordinary cake. Rose, with her swift eyes, had spotted some Bertie Beans in the bottom layer and now all the kids were jumping on top of each other to get a slice from that layer. Molly Weasley was shaking her head, remarking to Fleur that she knew that they should have made two layers with Bertie beans...but Victoire recoiled: She had a deep and secret fear of Bertie Bott's beans.

She remembered the first time she had eaten one: a mere five-year-old, she had begged Teddy for one after he'd gotten them from his godfather. Harry had tried to intervene, but it had been too late: Victoire one popped into her mouth. The consequences were horrifying. She retched, and retched, and retched, and finally threw up all over Harry's best boots. She stayed in bed for the entire rest of the day and no matter how many mugs of hot chocolate Ginny had generously made for her she couldn't seem to get that atrocious taste to go away. It was not a happy memory: in fact, it was one of her worst memories ever.

But suddenly, again, swimming before her eyes rose a memory equally as bad and closer to home. Nightmare Teddy's dark blue eyes reached across dreams and into reality and pierced her - her mind and heart went cold, absolutely cold.

She gazed at the boy just across the table and thought of all the days they'd spent together and memories they'd shared. He was like an older brother to her, she thought. Before her own brother and sister were alive, he was there. They'd played on Muggle playgrounds and made little houses out of wood chips; they'd played pranks and gone to zoos; they'd stayed up late together during sleepovers at Harry's house and hid under the covers shining wands Teddy had magically lighted into each other's faces. Most of her favorite memories had Teddy in them; the funniest, heartwarming pictures she had were of the two of them together.

And now, the thought as quick and sudden and terrible and unalterable as a Killing Curse: The thought that she might lose him.

There he was, gently slicing a piece of cake for Hugo, making sure the size was right, that the Bertie Bean Hugo wanted was situated right in the middle of it. Her friend, her brother...her heart tore, and tears, unnoticed by the cheerful, busy crowd of family swirling around her, were running swiftly down her cheeks. Melancholy gripped her and she bowed her head to her chest so her hair covered her face, taking no notice as people shunted her aside on their quest for cake.

"Hey, Victoire? Where's Victoire? The birthday girl should have gotten the first slice!" someone called out. It was Teddy.

In that moment, an extraordinary change came over Victoire: Instead of feeling waves of despair crash over her, she felt her heart burn with some strange emotion. Later she realized it was _anger._

This anger swelled and grew wild and reared its head inside of her like a dormant dragon being roused from a long sleep, and as the anger expanded in intensity she knew, deep down inside of her, that something was going to happen, though she could have said precisely what-

The cake exploded.

Bits of it flew everywhere. Fruit cake was suddenly glued to the windows in a hideous conglomeration of blue and red; crumbs of coffee cake fell on the carpet and the cat sped forward, a grey blur, to enjoy its unexpected feast; the vanilla layer decided to plaster itself all over everyone's clothes, faces, and hair. A long, thick silence followed during which James picked the Bertie Beans carefully off his T-shirt and ate them one by one. His muffled gag as he swallowed a particularly bad one was the loudest noise in the room.

But then, suddenly, Teddy started laughing louder and more joyfully than he'd ever had before - laughing and crying and smiling all at once. "You had it in you," he cried, "You had it in you _all this time."_

Covered in cake, with frosting on his nose, he ran up and hugged Victoire.

It was the first time she had ever made magic.

* * *

The wind seared and burned Victoire's bones with a ferocious cold as she stepped onto platform nine and three quarters. It was a grey day; few people were about. Drawing her winter robes more closely about her for warmth, she half-ran across the platform to where a small brunette figure with short curly hair stood, looking impatient. The icy wind whipped her face, leaving it numb and slightly stinging as she rushed to a halt.

"What took you so long?" Vivian asked, wrestling her midnight black owl into its cage with furry-mittened fingers. Her brown curls bobbed and blew in the chilly breeze. "I've been here for a least fifteen minutes already."

"My alarmbrall didn't go off," Victoire murmured, her teeth chattering, her whole body cold with guilt and throbbing with fear.

"Some weather, isn't it?" interrupted Vivian. "The first of September and it's almost snowing. Oh! It's a quarter to eleven; we'd better go."

She arranged her owl cage a little more securely, moved her earmuffs more snugly over her ears, and then took off at a run towards the barrier. Victoire watched her go, her heart sinking. Three...two...one…

But suddenly her friend skidded around and stared back at Victoire. Victoire stared back with mounting dread.

Vivian yelled to her, and her voice was faint, carried away by the wind. Yet Victoire still knew what she was saying:

 _Why aren't you coming?_

And Victoire, at this awful, final, terrible moment, couldn't bring herself to say it. Slowly she turned around and began walking away.

Hot breaths hit the back of her neck and a warm furry little hand grasped her shoulder.

"What's going on?" For the first time in Victoire's memory, a hint of fear tainted Vivian's voice. "Where's your school stuff? Aren't you coming?"

The questions pulsed and throbbed in Victoire's ears; for a moment she felt hollow, empty, drifting and whistling about like the cruel wind whipping around her. Suddenly she clenched her fists and felt herself return: all her dark anger, her grieving courage, her fierceness born from painful longing returned. She turned to face her friend.

"I'm not going," she said. Just three words, but they cut into the roof of her mouth like needles and screamed through her mind the truth, the horrible truth.

Vivian's hand slowly slipped off Victoire's shoulder. " _What?"_

"I told you. I'm not going."

Victoire could feel Vivian's brain racing, searching for an explanation. "Are-are you going to some other Wizarding school, Beauxbatons or Durmstrang or one of those strange American schools - Oh, I hope it's not one of those, they're way too far away and besides they don't allow house elves I don't know why but my mom said it had something to do with a civil war they had, but I don't believe her because why would they have been fighting, I mean they didn't have Voldemort or anything-"

"Vivi, I'm not going to another wizarding school. I-I just came to see you off. I-" Victoire stopped. She couldn't say anything more.

At last the horrible truth began to dawn on her friend. "Are-are you a-a-a," she gasped, but she could not bring herself to say it. Before Victoire had a chance to move her frozen limbs, Vivian flung her arms around her and held her tight. "Oh, Vicky, I'm going to miss you so, so much!" Her voice, choked, fell silent, and the two clung together as much for warmth as for emotional support. Soft, thick snow began to fall.

But then it the moment was broken: Vivian's mother rushed up and hustled her daughter through the barrier, pushing aside some disgruntled-looking Muggles ("What were you thinking; it's three to! "But _Mum!_ "). Victoire slowly moved back to stand by her mum as Vivian vanished into the barrier and out of Victoire's life. There was a gulf that separated them now that could not easily be breached.

She heard from Vivian only once more, a hastily scribbled letter delivered by her owl in December of that year. Victoire sat on her bed at her Muggle boarding school (need name) and opened the letter with trembling fingers, this long-awaited missive that she'd been waiting and hoping for, and felt a weary sense of disappointment settle upon her as she read. It contained a bit of news on her classes and mentioned her house (Hufflepuff) briefly, but mostly it was about new people Vivian had met and new friends she had made (There was this Eleanor, Victoire, so wickedly funny, just brilliant, you would have loved her…). Hastily written and self-absorbed, it failed to ask about Victoire and what was going on in her life and somehow lacked the old inside jokes that used to make them both laugh so much. It was from a different person, and they were different people now. There was no returning back to old times; her whole life had changed for better or for worse, and a friend was lost in the process.

 _At least,_ she thought, folding her arms underneath her head and staring up at the ceiling, _at least I still have Teddy._

Somehow, he was there with her even from far away, because she knew his thoughts rested with her. Her first year alone at boarding school she received a letter every week and sometimes candy from Honeydukes on Teddy's periodic Hogsmeade visits. The thought of him walking into Honeydukes just to buy candy for her (Teddy had never been a great fan of wizard candy, and shared Victoire's abhorrence of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavor beans) sent pleasant warm shivers throughout her body.

Victoire would stay up past midnight on Sundays, waiting for the Muggles around her to fall asleep so his owl could come in. When the letter came, she would always gently, carefully, meticulously slide it open, wanting to make the sweet moment last as long as possible, and read it as slowly as she possibly could, savoring each and every word. He was always very thorough, describing everything even down to the most mundane so she could feel like she was there, experiencing it all. The pranks he had heard about and seen, the atmosphere and results of Quidditch matches, the various interesting things he'd learned in his classes: it was all there, drawn in minute and loving detail. He, unlike Vivian, never mentioned anything about the friends he'd made, perhaps intuitively knowing that it would only cause Victoire more bitterness and envy. At least, that was what Victoire believed, but his grandmother had told her a different story once last summer when Victoire had stayed at her house.

They were slicing onions together in companionable silence when Andromeda suddenly looked up and out the window. Victoire, assuming she was about to hear about some interesting new bird at the bird feeder, waited expectantly, but Teddy's grandmother remained frozen, her knife resting against the cutting board. When Victoire finally looked up, to her surprise she saw tears glistening in the older woman's eyes. She quickly looked down and began slicing onions more vigorously, almost violently. She could never bear it when other people cried.

"I'm worried about Teddy." The voice was remarkably clear and calm.

Victoire's knife slipped and a shallow gash appeared on her index finger. "Teddy?" She couldn't conceal her bewilderment. He was healthy; he was cute; he was smart. What was there to be worried about?

"Yes." The onion chopping began again. "He's had two whole years at Hogwarts now, but he hasn't made any friends. He spends most of his time in the Potions dungeons." Andromeda gave a small, choked laugh and shook her head. "Imagine that! The Potions dungeons! I always told him his hobby would get out of hand."

Victoire gave a wry smile. It sounded like Teddy. She imagined him for a moment, leaning over a cauldron in which one of his photographs was soaking, waiting earnestly until he could take it out and watch the picture move. Her smile disappeared. Her daydream-Teddy had dark, brooding eyes and a pallid face devoid of energy or enthusiasm. For several moments that face haunted her: it seemed all too real. She shivered.

"Well, Teddy's like that," she said finally as she moved on to slicing tomatoes. "He likes being all by himself, doing things all by himself. I dunno; it's just the way he is."

Andromeda came over and scooped the tomatoes into her hands, throwing them into the bubbling soup pot. Victoire caught her eye; there was a strange expression there. "What?" she said a bit defensively.

Andromeda scratched her temple thoughtfully. "You just don't know what you are to that boy," she said slowly. "You're the best - maybe the only - friend he's had."

Victoire had bowed her head, trying not to feel too pleased. Now, however, nine months after that conversation, the memory was still bright and clear inside her head. And suddenly, a puzzle piece clicked within her, and her future was laid out in front of her like a treasure map: Full of danger, full of possibility. All she had to do was follow the necessary steps and then all the wealth of her wishes would be hers. Already she could feel the bright September sun beating down on her head, the train's farewell whistle before it sped out of the Platform Nine and Three Quarters...her parents standing there, so proud, so happy for her, their faces beaming out of the mist…

"Who did zis?" The harsh words snapped her flimsy daydream like a twig. Victoire felt her fantasy die away like a sunset, so frail and yet so precious. Her mother filled her vision. She was shaking, maybe with rage, maybe with fear, Victoire didn't know. Her French accent, so carefully edited away over the years, now came back in full force.

Nobody moved or even seemed to breathe for a moment. Teddy's arm dropped off Victoire's shoulder and he looked quizzingly over at Fleur, whose eyes were so large and whose mouth was such a thin line she looked borderline creepy. Teddy cleared his throat and said cautiously, "What do you mean? Victoire did it; it was obviously an accident. No one would purposely blow up a cake...would they?" he added somewhat uncertainly.

Fleur's eyes swept across the room staring down each suspect; her gaze lingered longest on James, who stared defiantly back. Victoire thought Teddy had a good point; she couldn't imagine any of the children blowing up the cake; they were all too eager to have a piece of it. Dimly she saw her father gently take her mother by the elbow and the two went into the kitchen; she could hear the murmur of their voices through the door and imagined what they were saying. Her dad, trying to persuade her mum to be reasonable, and her mum, saying fervently under her breath, "Bill, is zis someone's idea of a vairy funny joke? Ah! Je ne suis pas amusé!"

"Victoire," Teddy said.

"Oh, the French? It means 'I am not amused,' " Victoire said distractedly.

"Victoire, are you alright?" Teddy asked.

Victoire suddenly noticed that everyone was staring at her. She resisted the urge to gulp. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Teddy put his hands back on Victoire's shoulders. "You did it, didn't you?" he said breathlessly. Victoire could hear the kitchen door's squeak as it opened. Her parents had re-entered the room.

For a split second, her vocal chords felt paralyzed. At last she said, just to break the silence: "Well, Teddy, I did it. Finally." Her voice was lifeless and dead; her eyes vacant and empty. Teddy's grip tightened on her shoulders as the silence in the room intensified.

Ron whistled.

Everyone in the room audibly let forth a sigh simultaneously and then nervously giggled. Hermione, beaming, broke into applause; scattered applause ensued that gradually gathered in intensity. Lily jumped down from her chair, ran to her cousin, and hugged her. Victoire crouched down and hugged her back. As she glanced up, she noticed the deeply contrite look of her sister and promised herself she would talk with her as soon as everyone left.

Even as the atmosphere lightened and small talk ensued, there was still something uncomfortable in the air, a deep uneasiness that seemed to pervade everything. It showed itself in perturbed manner Albus was looking at his cake, as though he weren't quite sure if it was safe to eat, and the way Ginny almost dropped several dishes as she cleared them from the table. Victoire glanced at Teddy and found his concern and fear mirrored there: As far as they knew, something like this had never happened before. Most children with magic in their blood showed it by the age of seven - Victoire had never heard of a twelve-year-old having their _inciperamagicae_ (first sighting/showing of magic). _But there must be someone!_ she thought desperately. She didn't know. All she knew was that what had just happened was no fluke. She was a true witch.

In a dream she found herself steered to the living room; dimly she felt the warmth and softness of the davenport underneath her and the gentle weight of presents being tipped into her lap. No one said anything more about the exploded cake or extrapolated on the cause of Victoire's sudden and unexpected _inciperamagicae. It's all too much for everyone to absorb,_ Victoire thought. For the first time she wished that everyone around her could just disappear for a moment so she could begin to understand and accept the enormity of what had just happened.

But instead she heaved an inner sigh and proceeded to open presents and pretend to be delighted with them: for how could she be _really_ delighted with these mere trifles? The best birthday present had already been given. Victoire pondered for a moment: _Who was the giver? Was it herself - or was it fate?_

~Please remember that reviews are always appreciated. :D


	2. The Red Devil & the White Angel

**Chapter Two** of **Polaris**

The Red Devil and the White Angel

 _By carefreewritergirl_

 _My hair is bright red, thick, and always messy._

 _My sister's hair is pure white blond, thin, and always perfect (even after rolling out of bed)._

 _I am rough, coarse, loud, boisterous._

 _My sister is calm, peaceful, serene, cheerful._

 _When I speak, everybody says, "Shut up."_

 _When my sister speaks, everyone listens._

 _When I do badly in school, no one is surprised. Everyone expects it of me._

 _When my sister does badly in school, everyone is surprised. Nobody expects it of her._

 _I am nobody's friend._

 _My sister is everybody's friend._

 _I am the_ _ **red devil**_ _._

 _She is the_ _ **white angel**_ _._

-From "My Diary", entry April 30, 2012, Dominique Weasley

All throughout the opening of the presents, Victoire was distracted by her thoughts; she did her best to feign happiness but she knew that few of the people around her were fooled. As she opened Teddy's gift, however, she experienced a faint jolt of real pleasure. It was a ticket to a Weird Sisters concert: Something she had been begging her mother for for eternity, but which her mother, for unexplainable motherly reasons, refused to give her. She never expected Teddy, however, to take notice of this and fulfill her desire, and she gave him a warm smile. With the ticket came some packages of Fabulous Frizzy Hair, a new hair product from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. On the side it proclaimed in large pink letters: _Dazzle your friends_ _with your worst hair day yet!_

"You didn't get this for free, did you?" Victoire teased Teddy, slyly looking at him out of the corners of her eyes, and then rounding to look on her Uncle Ron. Ron tried to look innocent, which only left him looking more guilty than ever.

After Victoire had put her presents in a mound and gave them to Teddy to guard against her little thieving siblings and cousins (for among the presents was more chocolate), she helped to wipe the bits of frosting and cake off all the furniture. Aunt Hermione joined her, and when they had gotten far enough away from the mob of laughing adults and running children, Victoire set down her rag and looked hesitantly at her aunt. When they caught each other's eyes Hermione quickly enveloped Victoire in a hug. Victoire felt tears of relief sting her eyes, and the fear and anxiety that had plagued her since the explosion of the cake melted away under the warmth of Aunt Hermione's embrace. She squeezed her aunt in thanks; Hermione squeezed back.

They broke apart and Hermione looked long and hard at her niece. "Is there anything you would like to talk about?" she asked, her voice low, soothing, comforting, and gently inviting, not hostile or too curious. Victoire felt the last of the tension in her body drain away.

"I just -" She shrugged her shoulders awkwardly. "I don't know what to feel right now."

"That's perfectly normal, trust me," her aunt said, a soft smile curving her lips. "I remember the day I first showed my magical abilities - I wasn't sure whether to be scared, angry at myself, or glad."

"What happened?" Victoire said with interest: She had never heard this particular story before.

" Well, I was in a library -"

"Typical," Victoire broke in teasingly.

"-and my mother told me she was going to make a run to the store and a few errands, and she'd come back in a few hours. Except I didn't hear her, because my head was in a book."

"Which book?"

" _The Witch of Blackbird Pond,_ ironically enough," her aunt answered. "So I was sitting there, reading for who knows how long - and then I finished the book, and cried a little because there wasn't a sequel -"

"And then what?"

"And then my stomach rumbled, and I realized suddenly I was hungry. And of course my next thought was: Where's my breadwinner? Where's the lady who's going to give me dinner?"

"Was your mom back yet?"

"No. And I had no idea where she'd gone. So you can imagine how it went - I searched through all the aisles; I went throughout the entire library; I scanned every nook and corner: And she wasn't anywhere, though I did almost mistake a lady for her. And then came the announcement that the library was closing in ten minutes, and I was extremely afraid."

"Didn't you talk to any librarians?"

"No - I didn't. It wasn't because I was scared of talking with adults - I never have been. It was my pride, the feeling that I was so much better than kids my own age and didn't deserve to be treated condescendingly like the child I was. I couldn't bear feeling the shame of telling them I didn't know where my own mother was. I thought to myself at the time, _I'm reading Voltaire! I never swear like those nasty kids in class! I get only As and A+s! I won't suffer being treated like a little kid; I simply won't. People will either treat me like an adult human being or nobody at all._ And so I remained terribly frightened, and the minutes were slowly but surely ticking away…"

"Eventually I was sweating, my heart was racing, I was near to tears. And I closed my eyes, and tried to think of what I was going to do, but couldn't, so I simply wished with all my heart that my mom was there, across from me…"

"And then she was," Victoire completed, smiling.

"Exactly right. There was a large thump, and many smaller thumps as objects hit the floor. And I opened my eyes, and there was my mother, leaning back against the bookcases and looking absolutely shell-shocked, staring around like she couldn't believe where she was. Long story short: It turned out that somehow I _transported_ her to myself. _She was standing in the checkout line at the grocery store and then suddenly she wasn't."_

"Whoa," Victoire whispered, her pale eyes wide with surprise. "That's even more dramatic than what happened to me."

"Yes. It was the strangest thing that had ever happened to me up until then and I had _no idea,_ none at all, about how to react to it. Had I caused this? Was I responsible? Was it caused from some extraterrestrial super-intelligent being? (I was into science fiction at the time.) Was I insane? Did it even happen - or did I imagine it? These were all questions that went through my mind, and I know you must have many questions too. But I have a hunch - mind you, just a hunch - that someday you are going to find an answer to all your questions. And I promise that I will help you as much as I possibly can."

"Thank you," Victoire whispered, and found to her embarrassment that her throat was burning with unshed tears. To know that someone had gone through something as traumatic as she had, someone who was now successful and happy and loved by many, sent a warm, glowing ball of peace into her chest. She hugged her aunt again, knowing that she could take Hermione's words seriously: She wouldn't make a promise that she couldn't keep. But Victoire didn't know if she had the same optimism about finding the answers to her questions. After all, if she was an anomaly nobody could explain now, would anyone be likely to understand her later? Perhaps she was just some random fluke of nature.

The remainder of the party passed in an unseen blur of activity, and what seemed like moments later Ron and Hermione were leaving with Rose and Hugo dragged forcibly behind them. Teddy departed with Harry's brood, bidding Victoire a temporary farewell: He was going to pick her up the following morning to stay at Harry's house and then they would visit Diagon Alley in the afternoon.

When at last all the house was empty and silent, Victoire drifted into the backyard garden, alive and vibrant with color. The soft May breeze played gently with the ends of her silver-white hair, and her sad pale blue eyes mirrored the tint of the sky. She was profoundly beautiful and profoundly alone; two things combined that produced sympathy in some and cruelty in others. At the moment, however, she was not aware of the world around her, only her own personal struggles and doubts, which obscured her mind like voluminous black clouds. She could not see the bees that moved lazily about, subtly carried by the soft, almost imperceptible rising and falling of the air. The only part of the garden she had eyes for was the smallest and most dingiest sector, where only a few shade plants grew, overshadowed by the walls of Shell Cottage. There a small, grimy stone lay.

It was her favorite part of the entire garden.

She knelt by it and began to rub off clods of dirt and grime until the jaggy words glimmered hesitantly in the fickle, dancing sunshine: _Here lies Dobby, a Free Elf._

Sudden tears came to her eyes as she gazed at it: Even though she had never met Dobby or truly known him, he was described so often to her by her aunt and uncles that she felt as though he were a dear friend she had lost long ago; he was someone half-remembered, whose appearance was a bit foggy, but who nevertheless caused fiery love to burn in her heart at the mere mention of him.

"Oh, Dobby," she murmured, resting her hand lightly against the cool stone. "We're the same, you know-we both made desserts explode and we both did it for the same reason. We did it because we really care for one person, and want only the best for him. But when you tried to help Harry you only ended up hurting him instead, even though you didn't mean to...I hope, that when I try to help Teddy, the same thing won't happen…" She bowed her head for a moment, and swallowed a sudden sob, her brow furrowed. "And we are both slaves - you under the Malfoys whom you detested, and me under my parents who will now force me to go to a Muggle school even though I am a witch. And yet...you escaped. And eventually... _I will too_."

Despite the certainty in which she uttered those words, doubt flooded her mind. She froze as the fingers of uncertainty clutched at her heart. She knew her parents...in some ways she knew them better than herself. She knew what their decision would be. And yet she didn't want to believe it. She _could not_ believe it, because if she did, she knew her whole life was ruined. Forced to keep her magical powers to herself, forced to hide them and meld with a world in which she was now absolutely sure she did not belong: Torture! She might as well be a ghost…

It was May. She was twelve years old. At this time of year, at her age, young witches and wizards had nearly completed their second year of wizarding education. If she were to start studying now, she would have to make up two years worth of material. Seven classes...seven entire classes for only first year! And second year: nine classes. Sixteen classes worth of material in all!

She tottered to her feet, but the world seemed to be spinning gradually faster and faster like a diabolical merry-go-round. There was no sense, no rightness, no decency in any of this. A few heartbeats before, she had felt nothing but simple profound happiness birthed from hope - now, however, a thick dark anger coursed through her veins. Her life was an anomaly; she had experienced something no one else, as far as she knew, had ever experienced. There was no example to follow; no one could give truly comforting or meaningful advice as to what she should do in her situation. _She was truly unique!_ she thought bitterly. To think that there were people out there who were jealous of her, who coveted the "interesting" life she had, who wished to be as _famous_ and _strange_ and _beautiful_ as she was. How stupid they all were! How prideful! How ignorant! Here, now, she had what they wanted - and she would have gladly given it up for almost anything in all the world.

In a kind of delirium, she stumbled through the garden, colors flowing and mixing in her vision, her head light, her ears ringing. Out of nowhere a hand reached out and grasped her arm, and a voice was saying, "There, there my girl. There there. My sweet pretty girl. Sit, sit."

It was rather an annoying voice, high-pitched and falsely concerned. Victoire hazily let herself be guided to a seat and rubbed her smarting eyes: The figure in front of her gradually came into focus. At first the only impression Victoire got was a mass of fluffy blond curls, but soon the face sharpened into that of an elderly woman. Despite being rather out of the spotlight in recent years, Victoire knew instantly who the lady in front of her was, and it didn't raise her spirits one whit.

"Rita Skeeter," she coughed out slightly, but even within the cough venom was palpable in her voice.

"Dear, dear," the woman said cheerfully. "No need to sound so _reproachful."_

Even within the strange apathy that gripped her, Victoire's stomach tightened with anger. Rita's eyes had heavy bags underneath and her cheeks were grooved with wrinkles. She had not aged well; Victoire guessed that she could not be much more than late fifties. The scarlet on her fingernails contrasted sharply with the pallor and rather faded aspect of the rest of her body.

"Sixty, m'dear," Rita said, accurately ascertaining the reason for Victoire's inquisitive stare. "Time has not been kind to me. Largely," she added with a burst of vehemence, "because of that _evil_ Muggle girl, threatening me with Azkaban and forcing me to hide out in dungy caves while I slowly starved to death…"

For a moment her eyes took on a haunted look and Victoire felt a twinge of sympathy in the midst of her hurt and anger. This feeling quickly disappeared as Rita took out a quill and paper. She shot to her feet. "I am not being interviewed; I'll tell Hermione you've been bothering me -"

A muscle in Rita's jaw jumped at the mention of Hermione's name but she leaned forward, her eyes opening earnestly. "Please," she murmured wheedlingly. "It's been so long - really, it has! And I'm not even using a Quick Quotes Quill."

Victoire glanced at the quill and saw to her surprise that Rita was telling the truth, but she backed away a few steps, turned, and began walking rapidly away.

"What do you think your parents will do now that they know you're a witch?" The taunting question was hurled at Victoire's retreating back. "They won't send you to Hogwarts, will they? They'll try to hush it up. You don't want it hushed up, do you?"

Victoire froze and, hardly believing or understanding herself, she turned around, walked back, sat down, crossed her legs, and folded her arms protectively over her chest.

"There we go," said Rita with satisfaction. "I was right, wasn't I?"

"Yes," said Victoire briefly, staring into her lap and drawing her arms closer about her. "I'm almost entirely sure that they don't want anyone to know about this."

"You realize what that means, right?" Rita said almost gently. "It means _they_ have the power. As long as nobody knows about your _inciperamagicae,_ your parents are free to send you to a Muggle boarding school without your consent. But if the word gets out - if the Wizarding World hears about this - not only will you be more famous than you already are, but your parents will be required _by law_ to get you a Wizarding education in some way, shape, or form. The Ministry would overrule your parents' decision and you would automatically be enrolled at Hogwarts, probably as a first year, but you know, there are downsides to everything. And that _is_ what you want, isn't it?" Rita peered keenly out of her spectacles at Victoire. Victoire stared back, and although she did not speak, Rita read the answer in her eyes.

"Well, then, you can't disagree that the best way to get the word out is an article in _The Daily Prophet_ -"

"OUT! OUT!"

Victoire heard her dad's voice and buried her head in her elbows. With her eyes firmly closed she heard the loud growls of her father and Rita's wimpy, half-audible excuses. When the shouts finally ceased and the garden gate clanged with a note of finality against Rita's retreating, angrily muttering back, Victoire opened her eyes but kept her head buried. The sun had disappeared, she noted as she stared at her boots. Faraway thunder rumbled. A lone raindrop lightly kissed the crown of her head.

"Victoire - Victoire, honey." She felt her dad's warm hand on her arm. "It's getting stormy - we better get inside."

He lifted her to her feet and led her up the cobblestoned garden path, his guidance firm but gentle. They did not speak until they reached the cool darkness of the dining room where the table was still littered by bits of crumb and broccoli. Victoire almost fell into a chair and hid her face in the armrest. She could not bear the thought of facing her father. Darkness, and blackness, and more darkness, that was all she needed or wanted. Let her world with all its confusing, wily ways vanish in the wave of a wand so she wouldn't have to understand it anymore.

But somewhere inside of her she realized that wasn't going to happen, and this was confirmed by her father's hand on her knee. "Victoire." His voice was grave.

She raised her head reluctantly, and there they were, her parents: Her mother across from her, her father, a chair drawn up close, sitting by her side.

She couldn't bear it! She leapt from her seat, her silver hair flying, lashing suddenly into her father's face. "You aren't going to let me go, are you? All this time, trying to convince me that being a Muggle was just part of who I was, that I just had to learn to accept it, but FOR ME, _FOR ME,_ it was like being born on a desert island all alone, because _nobody_ knew what it was like, _nobody_ had to live in a one world while trying one's best to fit into another, nobody else had to try so hard to be someone they actually weren't -"

"We were wrong."

Her father's words, sharp as his fang earring dangling from his ear, cut through her own words and lacerated them into silence. She gazed at him, her chest heaving and her eyes abnormally bright. Her beauty was enough to captivate anyone, but these were her parents, and they knew her as she knew herself, so her beauty did not affect them in any manner - but her words, her word did. She could see it in the shocked, wounded expression of their eyes. Fleur was twisting her hands nervously. Her father wolfish aspects stood out more starkly than usual. When he next spoke, his voice was soft, like a rustle of wind in the grasses, yet there was steel behind it, a hint of harsh anger and despair.

"The world is strange. You don't know how strange it can be - you've grown up with magic, and it's always seemed very logical and relatively simple to you. But the more you learn about it, the more you use it, the more you realize that there's so much we don't know and more we forget. We forget that magic is _not a tool_ to be changed and manipulated to our own purposes: Many treat it that way, but that is a lie. Magic is a _Being_. It has life and rules it uses to govern itself, some rules which we are completely unaware of. It has a complexity we can't even begin to understand. Witches and wizards fool themselves when they think that they can control magic. The biggest fools are the ones who cause mass destruction and chaos."

Victoire bowed her head and thought of Voldemort, who believed that magic was _his_ to control, and felt that she had at least an inkling of what her father was talking about. Looking up, she caught a glimpse of Bill's deeply scarred face reflected in the dim light of the room. A crash of thunder boomed out. She could almost hear the bone-chilling sound of werewolves howling far off. Shivering, she stared down at her shaking hands.

"But some of the rules can be discovered, can't they?" she asked, carefully tilting back her head to ensure that no tears leaked out the corners. "What happened to me - can't it be explained? By anyone? Anywhere?"

Desperation were in her last two questions, but even as she asked them she knew the answer - no, this couldn't be explained and she might never know the answer as long as she lived. Despite herself tears began to pour in a steady stream down her face - she tried her best to stifle them, but it was no good. The magic she had claimed to be hers slipped and darted away, laughing mockingly in her face.

"Oh my girl -" her mother began soothingly.

"Don't - don't you dare talk to me like that!" Victoire burst out. Her appearance would have been comical if it weren't so furious and helpless: Her damp hair was plastered to her face from her tears and her cloak was covered in bits of leaves and dirt. " _You're not going to let me go to Hogwarts, are you?"_

To the end of her life she could still remember that one very thin stream of hope coursing through her grief, before everything she had wished and longed for came crashing down around her ears.

Dominique Weasley crouched on the cold bare floor inside a closet, peering through the tendril of light that gently poked through the open door. She could see her parents, stony-faced, their hands in their laps and their backs glued upright to their chairs. She could hear her sister crying wild desperate sobs, on and on and on and on. _Would she_ _ **never**_ _shut up?_

Dominique was never afraid to tell the truth to herself, or, for that matter, anyone else. She knew she hated her sister. This truth had been expressed to her parents on more than one occasion, and to Victoire numerous times in her quick contemptuous glance, her frequent cool comments, and the upward tilt of her head that prevented her from meeting her sister's eyes whenever they happened to be in the same room. Their younger brother Louis was the only one that could unite them, and even with him the smiles and laughs they had shared together over the course of their lifetime could be counted on a single pair of hands.

She felt a jolt of sudden anger grip her as the day came back to her, vivid in its horror. From the moment Teddy had walked in the house, his eyes were on Victoire...never even bothered to glance at her. In fact, he may have even avoided her eyes...he hated her because she hated Victoire, she was convinced of it. But she had given Victoire a present! The first in how many years? She didn't really know; she didn't really care. It wasn't much; it was simply some chocolate frog cards one of her wizarding friends had given her, most of them repeats from her own collection. She had looked eagerly at Teddy, hoping maybe to have his smile of approval...but his eyes were on Victoire, on James and Louis and Lily - anyone but her. It would be better when she went off to school, she thought. Wizarding school. There she would have her moment in the spotlight as she sat on the stool that every student of Hogwarts since its beginning had sat upon; there she would put the hat over her thick red curls and listen as it whispered to her her destiny…

When she surfaced, the crowd would be clapping. Teddy's face would stand out in sharp relief, his eyes fixed adoringly on her - Victoire, for once, not there to distract him.

And then there was school itself...she would be brilliant, a star student. Everyone would forget the days of her Fail grades in Math and her Passes in World and England History, because it wouldn't matter anymore. Her angry teachers and falsely-concerned counselors would fade into the background, the distant past...

In the midst of her stormy, impassioned thoughts Dominique barely noticed her parents' receding footsteps. Victoire's crying was dwindling away into silent tears. Dominique gently raised herself to her feet and opened the door. Across the room in the light of a flickering candle her sister was sitting ramrod straight in her chair, her chin level, her blue eyes open, perfectly still and expressionless, the tears falling in a carefully controlled stream. When Victoire was in very, very deep emotional pain, after her initial outburst her weeping grew gradually more gravely dignified and remote, more controlled. It was a peculiar feature about her, and oddly Dominique was jealous of it. When _she_ cried, long tendrils of snot dribbled out of her nose and down her chin and her face got all red and blotchy.

She broke the silence. "Who do you think blew up the cake?"

The stream of tears dwindled. Her sister's head turned slightly. Her mouth moved like someone under the influence of an Imperius curse.

"I did." Quiet. A simple statement of fact. Dominique's fury lit itself with the fuel of her sister's apathy and blind acceptance.

"You did not, and you know that perfectly well! And if you're beginning to believe it, forget it. Have you _ever_ heard of a twelve-year-old having their _inciperamagicae_? I'm surprised Mum and Dad believe you, honestly!"

One of Victoire's hands in her lap twitched. Her face was bloodless.

Dominique crept closer to the table. She looked like a dragon just then, with a fiery red mane and thick dark eyebrows and a poisonous tongue to match. "You _know_ you can't keep up this deception much longer." Her voice was soft and deceptively soothing. "You'll have to let the dragon out of the bag sooner or later; you'll have to reveal your accomplice. Poor Teddy, I'm afraid, will be condemned for his dishonest act. He'll lose the trust of the family. Ah, well, unfortunately it can't be helped..."

"Teddy didn't do it!" For the first time there was a spark of anger in Victoire's voice. Her eyes leapt up and pinned her sister in place with their strong icy grip.

"Well, perhaps you didn't _know_ that he did it, but he did it nevertheless. He loves you, you know. Love can make people do foolish things. What if he wanted you at Hogwarts so badly that he concocted this mad scheme in his bed at night and then spontaneously carried it out when his emotions were running high this morning? Perhaps he never really _meant_ for it to happen, but…" Dominique threw up her hands, a small smirk twisting her full lips. "It happened. The really lucky part was that somehow _you_ were tricked into believing you did it too, otherwise no one would have believed that you had been responsible for it."

A small silence passed. Victoire had returned to her stone-body posture, but no tears coursed down her cheeks. Instead Dominique could see her words taking root, doubt beginning to cloud those beautiful blue eyes.

"If you want, I can confront him, in order to save you the pain," she gently whispered. She extended a hand and reluctantly patted her sister's silver hair, shivers of loathing traveling up her arm. "You don't have to do this all alone, Victoire."

"Thanks, Domi," her sister whispered. A single tear shivered in her eyelash and dropped onto her breast. The use of the long-ago childhood name sent a burst of warmth to Dominique's heart, and she had a sudden, flashing impulse to hug her sister and bury her face in Victoire's sweet-smelling hair.

A millisecond later the desire had fled far, far away.

"But - I'm sure we could convince your parents - they're reasonable people aren't they?" Teddy's voice dwindled off into silence. Next to him on the bed, Victoire was staring off into space. Around them lay piles of books Teddy had been searching through for the past who-knows-how-long hours, all to no avail. It seemed that Victoire was the oldest child in recorded Wizarding history to have her _inciperamagicae_. This did not make Victoire feel unique - rather, it contributed to her feeling of isolation.

Teddy picked up an ear-worn book entitled _Merlin's Wizarding World Records_ , opened it, and sighed. "The closest I've been able to find to your age is some dude named Sebastian the Strange. He was nine. He was also a lunatic."

"Maybe I'm secretly a lunatic too," Victoire said, trying to be flippant and failing. Instead she heard her voice break and closed her eyes to block the tears that were threatening. From far away she heard Teddy slam his book shut and the creaking of the bed springs as he moved to an upright position to sit next to her. He was silent. That was one quality Victoire really appreciated about Teddy; he could be silent for long periods of time and knew when to be.

"Thanks Teddy," Victoire said when she had regained her voice. Teddy wasn't a bookworm by nature and in most cases history books having to do with anything besides the mistreatment of magical creatures such as centaurs and mermaids were his special object of loathing; he was usually the first one to either fall asleep or doodle lurid pictures of his bored classmates in any of Professor Binn's classes. As he replaced the book on his bookshelf and began to close the others scattered about the room, she chewed her inner lip, torn between words and silence.

"Teddy?"

He quit bookmarking a heavy volume and scooted closer to her. "Yes?"

All of a sudden she felt ashamed. She turned away. "Never mind."

"Victoire! Look at me!" His voice was urgent. A hand closed firmly around her wrist.

She was still incapable of looking at him. Staring across the room, she said, "You didn't do it, did you Teddy?"

"Do what?"

"Blow up the cake."

For a moment there was silence. Teddy's mouth opened comically. "Where did you get a damned idea like that from? Oh wait, don't tell me. Dominique, right?"

Grudgingly, Victoire nodded her head.

"Don't you listen to that girl," Teddy said roughly. "I keep meaning to tell you, the only reason she's like that is because -"

"Victoire! Teddy! Lunchtime!" Victoire suddenly smelled mouthwatering wafts of her aunt's fresh warm banana bread. Teddy cast Victoire a concerned look, but anticipation for delicious food had momentarily driven all worries from Victoire's mind. Pulling Teddy to his feet, she ran with him to the kitchen as though Bludgers were after her, reaching the table just as everyone was sitting down.

Teddy immediately reached for a piece of banana bread and bit into it. "Ooommm," he said in delight, swallowing. "Aunt Ginny, your banana bread is ten times more delicious than a million chocolate frogs all combined together."

"Why, thank you Teddy," said Ginny, smiling warmly, while Victoire involuntarily let out a high-pitched giggle.

"But Teddy," she said, trying not to grin, "eating a million chocolate frogs would make _anyone_ sick, so _of course_ the banana bread would be more delicious. So, you know, that actually isn't a compliment."

Teddy raised his eyes to the ceiling in eloquent despair, but they sparkled with amusement. Victoire, her heart feeling lighter, her stomach inwardly throbbing with silent laughter, sat down and gazed around at them all: Harry, Ginny, James, Albus, Lily, and Teddy. She smoothed out the self-cleaning tablecloth, remembering how when she was younger she used to take huge chunks out of her banana bread and drop them onto the tablecloth just so she could see them disappear.

Somehow, here, right now, where all her favorite people were gathered together and so many good things had already happened, it was difficult to be weighted down with worry or anger or sadness. Instead she began to see, like a glimmer of sun on dim water far away, a hope, a dream, a plan, something to show her parents and the rest of the world that _she really was a witch._

~Please remember that reviews are always appreciated. :D


	3. Interlude: Letters & Diary Entries

**Prologue** of **Polaris**

 _by carefreewritergirl_

 **-Letters and Diary Entries from the Delacour-Weasleys-**

* * *

 **-Author's Note-**

 _Hello._

 _I am the one narrating this story, but I'm not going to tell you my name or anything else about me. But I will tell you this about myself: I am the star that does not shine. I am the flower that does not bloom._

 _If anyone does not deserve an afterlife, it's me._

 _Yet here I am, eternity stretching ahead of me with absolutely nothing to do... so I thought I might as well make myself useful, in a way. That's why I'm telling this story. It isn't even my own story. Not really._

 _Actually, I don't think we'll start just yet, if you don't mind (DO you mind? I sure hope not). I've done some searching, found some diary entries that may be of interest to you. Why don't you read those to kill some time before the real story begins?_

 _With trillions of years ahead of me, you honestly can't blame me for taking my time…_

 _-L_

* * *

 _ **An excerpt from Fleur Delacour Weasley's diary, dated 17 August 2002, translated from French.**_

 _Today I discovered that my little daughter is a witch. Eagerly I have waited and watched, ready to spread the word once a magical sign is shown, but recently I began to give up hope. But today! I don't know whether to feel angry or or ridiculously happy!_

 _Foolishly, I had left Bill's Pensieve out of the closet where he usually keeps it. Normally he puts the thing in a safe hidden place immediately; after all, no one wants their Pensieve in plain sight. But last night he had been distracted, worried due to the increasing number of wizards who are investing their money in Muggle "stocks" (I believe that's the word, anyway) and putting their money in Muggle banks. So naturally the Pensieve is left just where my playful two-year-old can reach it._

 _Normally that would not be a problem; Pensieves are, after all, made of thick, sturdy stone and are high enough that small children can't accidentally tip themselves in. Nevertheless, I am working in the kitchen, making cookies, and I call to Victoire if she would like to lick "The Cookie Spoon." Whenever she hears those three words she usually comes running like Grindelwald himself is after her. But this time she doesn't. So I turn and look, but she is nowhere in sight. Suddenly I notice a chair drawn up close to the edge of the Pensieve and realize what must have happened._

 _So of course I scream at the top of my lungs, I run over, haul her up out of it by her armpits, and set her on the ground. Fearing the worst, I peer over the edge of the Pensieve: The image of a court scene at the Ministry of Magic swimming before my eyes. At the center: a criminal and_ two dementors.

 _Behind me, my little girl is crying softly and saying, "Mummy, what were those big black things? Mummy!?"_

 _I go to her and hug her tight. "Just a bad dream, my sweet little Vic," I whisper. Distracting her with the promised cookie spoon, I hastily owl Bill. When he comes home, we eat a quick dinner and send Victoire away for an early bedtime so that "mummy and daddy can talk about grown-up things."_

 _Once we are alone, I turn to Bill excitedly and open my mouth - but before I can say anything, he hugs me._

" _Our daughter is a witch," I whisper into his shoulder._

" _Our daughter is a darn naughty little witch," Bill agrees, grinning._

" _But-" I straighten and withdraw my arms from around his neck. "Bill-she did see dementors. That's-I mean-will she remember it?"_

" _Honey, she's two years old," Bill says patiently. "Forget about worrying if she'll remember it ten years from today; she doesn't even remember it now. She seemed as cheerful as ever at dinner."_

" _Yes, but -" I find myself suddenly incapable of expressing my worries. I finally throw up my hands. "I just wish - she didn't have to show her magical ability_ this _way. Anything else. Even her - I don't know - exploding something, like Elizabeth's daughter Vivian, would be better. I don't know." I lapse into silence. Bill, also in silence, gently gathers me into his arms._

 _Now that I am debating whether to tell friends and family that my daughter has had her inspira magica. No doubt they will inquire as to how it happened...and I am not so sure I am overly willing to tell them._

 _Ah well. Something to worry about tomorrow._

 _-_ _Fleur Weasley_

* * *

 _ **An excerpt of Bill's letter to his mother, Mrs. Molly Weasley, found in Mrs. Weasley's possession when she died.**_

 _19 August 2002_

 _Dear mother..._

 _...I wonder if we'll ever have the courage to tell Victoire or any others of this event, or whether we'll always pretend that the next time she shows magic was actually the very first._

 _Bill Weasley_

* * *

 _ **Excerpts of Victoire Weasley's diary when she was seven through nine years old, found on her bedroom desk.**_

 _April 12th 2007_

 _Dear Diary,_

 _The girls and boys. Always asking, always asking. Why can't they leave my poor friend alone? He is so funny, so bright, and all they can whisper to each other is "He's the son of a werewolf." My mom didn't want me coming to this party. She said they lied, that they're trying to cover it up. In reality, he's a werewolf too. I can hear them whispering. Even if I couldn't hear their whispers, I'd still know what they were saying, by the way their eyes dart around to stare at Teddy and the way they keep staring, keep staring, and it isn't a good stare either. I keep eating cookies so I don't have to talk to them. I have never eaten so many cookies in my life._

 _Ages and ages pass, and finally the party's over. The stupid boys and girls say they're going to leave, but all they do is stay and keep eating and talking. They all go until there's one girl left, the one girl who wasn't whispering like the others, only listening intently to the whispers._

 _And she says to me: "Victoire, are you sure he's going to be alright?" And she doesn't have to clarify who, I know which person she's talking about. And I say to her, as firmly as I can, "Yes, yes Tamara, he's going to be alright. He's going to be fine."_

 _But she still looks uncertain, and she says to me again, "Are you sure? Are you sure he isn't-he isn't-" -here she lowers her voice- "a werewolf?"_

" _I'm sure," I say, but my throat feels dry. "Goodbye, Tamara. Goodbye."_

 _She recognizes the dismissal and departs into the night. But her words remain, easy to recall as the ghostly image of a spell using Prior Incantatem._

* * *

 _October 27 2008_

 _Dear Diary,_

 _I'm so scared. I hardly know what happened today._

 _My mom and I go on a trip to Diagon Ally, and she tells me to stay in Ollivander's while she goes to Gringotts. (I've never been in there; the first time someone told me it was run by goblins - I mean, Goblins are creepy...) There was nobody in Ollivander's except myself and Mr. Ollivander, and he is in the far back room where all the new wands are stored and catalogued. I creep down the aisles very quietly until I am standing right next to him. His head is bent over, inspecting a wand and frowning. I ask him what is the matter._

 _He gives a little jump. His large bulbous eyes open gradually wider as he stares up at me. His pupils look strange in the dim light. "My dear child," he says, "I thought you were a ghost."_

" _Why - sir?" I ask curiously._

 _Mr. Ollivander looks thoughtful. "There is no magical aura about you. Whenever a witch or wizard walks into this place, the wands always respond."_

 _I catch my breath. "How?"_

" _Not in any visible way. But they come alive. You know, of course, that when a wand is in a Muggle's possession, it is only a stick of wood. Its magical capabilities have gone dormant; it is as though it were sleeping."_

" _Sleeping?" I cry, for once abandoning my whisper in my sudden anger and astonishment. My voice makes several cobwebs fall from the ceiling as though they are as surprised as I. "But-but-but...I am a witch!"_

" _Have you showed any visible signs of magic yet?" Mr. Ollivander asks through severely tightened lips. His eyes peer imperiously at me, magnified through thick spectacles._

" _Well...no…"_

" _Then you are not in fact a witch." The words lash at me like deadly spells, clearly dictated and concise. They are absolutely true, but also absolutely maddening to me._

" _But you know who my parents are!"_

" _No I do not."_

 _I laugh suddenly, my voice high in incredulation. "You don't know who I am? Daughter of Bill and Fleur Weasley, Victoire Eilwen Aisling Weasley?"_

 _All Mr. Ollivander said was "Ah."_

 _I am a little annoyed at this, but decided it could be forgiven due to Mr. Ollivander's eccentricity. Deciding to revert to my original question, I ask, "What's the matter?" for he is once again examining the wand with a frown._

" _This is a wand with veela hair," he says simply. "There are many customers pressing to get this type of wand in my shop, and I'm afraid I can no longer resist them...people don't seem to place much respect to my judgement anymore; I do perceive that some of them believe I am insane."_

 _For a moment he truly does look insane: His face trembles and his teeth are bared. Then his face relaxes._

" _But that is of no matter," he says softly. "Let them think what they want to think. I am leaving soon...it will be all over soon."_

" _Leaving, sir?"_

" _Yes. For Hogwarts. As a teacher." He pensively scratches his chin. "I doubt that I will be able to handle the job...however, I feel a duty in it. There are too few trained in Wandlore currently, and in the troubled days up ahead, we will need those that have mastered the science."_

" _Troubled days, sir?"_

 _He stares off into the distance, the shoulders beneath his black cloak growing taught. "Yes-troubled days-many troubled days, up ahead."_

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